Hunted (Book 2)

HUNTED

Megg Jensen

Cover
art by Michael Gauss

http://gaussianeffect.blogspot.com/

Cover
design by Steven Novak Illustration

http://www.novakillustration.com

Copyright
© 2014 by 80 Pages, Inc

Published
by 80 Pages, Inc

This
book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
products of the author’s imagination or used factitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or
transmitted in any form by or any means, electronic or mechanical, without
permission in writing from the author or publisher.

1
^st
Edition: June 2014

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Udor watched in wonder,
barely believing his eyes as the fog dissipated. "He did it," he
said. Not to anyone in particular. The residents of Hutton's Bridge were as
stunned as he. "That little bastard did it."

He would have put his
hands on his hips, but those had disappeared in a mass of fat many years ago.
He had been stuck in the fog, with a life of simple luxury and a wife who
submitted to him. Children who had obeyed his every word. And when Sophia had
died, he'd inherited the leadership of the town. He’d finally had everything he
wanted.

Then those three had to
go and destroy it. He'd tried to convince Tressa to stay behind. He'd wanted
her body, yes, but more than that, he’d wanted to end the yearly trek into the
fog. Odds were someone would eventually break through and ruin everything good
in his cushy life as leader of Hutton’s Bridge.

That day had come.

Chaos erupted amongst
the villagers. Udor ambled through the masses, ignoring their pleas for
guidance. Now they'd all want to leave. Now he'd have to deal with outsiders.
Now his life would be changed for good.

Udor slipped into his
cottage and locked the door, not caring his wife and children were still out
there somewhere. He needed to be alone. He had to figure out how he was going
to deal with this unexpected situation. He rested his hands on his ample
stomach and sighed.

When Bastian had come
back to town, claiming the world outside existed and was waiting for them, Udor
found himself wishing he were a younger man. He could have challenged Bastian.
Instead he'd just let the boy take his best men into the fog, armed to the
teeth.

And then this. They did
it. The fog was gone.

A knock at the door
interrupted his thoughts. "Yes?" He couldn't ignore it. Enough people
had seen him go into his cottage. And he was still their leader, whether he
liked the situation or not.

"It's me, Adam.
We're back. Everyone wants you to come out and speak."

Udor groaned, rising
from the soft, plump chair. He straightened his shirt and rolled his eyes.
"I'll be right out. Glad to hear you're back safely." And he was.
Adam was their only skilled healer. Thankfully he'd come back to help his
fellow villagers instead of taking off into the new world.

He flung the door open
and strode out with a confident gait, though he had no idea what to tell them.
He would let their expressions lead him. If there was one thing he'd learned
over the years, it was to read the faces of his neighbors. It had helped him
get his way many times. All he had to do was recognize their fears or desires
and play upon them.

Except for that damned
Sophia. He’d hated her arrogant behavior. As if being the last living witness
to the day the fog fell meant something. It meant nothing. She knew nothing.
The day she died had been the best day of his life.

Sophia had her final
revenge, though. After Tressa had gone through the fog, the villagers had entered
the cottage she’d shared with Sophia. The others in the village needed her
resources. After the first day of rummaging through their things, the door no
longer opened. For weeks, they tried. Eventually they'd given up. At least he’d
found the book Sophia had kept hidden. The one that explained why their village
had been doomed to be draped by fog.

Udor ascended the
platform next to the rock where Sophia had lain not more than a moon ago. He
wondered for a moment what she would have done in this situation. Probably
encouraged everyone to run from town as fast as they could.

He looked out into the
crowd. Women wrung their hands or snapped at their oblivious children. Men
fidgeted with their farming implements, worried about the dead Adam's men were
carrying back into town. "Where is Bastian?" Udor asked Adam.

"Taken by a group
of soldiers. The rest are on their way here now."

Udor cursed under his
breath. Why hadn't Adam mentioned that back at his cottage? Now he really had
to think on his toes.

"My people," Udor
said, raising his arms. "This is truly a joyous day. Our town has been
liberated. The fog is gone. The world is ours to explore." He glanced at
Adam out of the corner of his eye. Adam looked nervous, shifting from one foot
to another. "But there are soldiers on their way to Hutton's Bridge. They
may mean us harm. We must take up arms and prepare to fight."

The murmurs in the crowd
turned to fear and anger.

"We don't know how
to fight! And some of our men were killed in that forest." Hazel pointed
to the place where Adam's men were dragging the dead back to the village. Her
eyes darted over the bodies, probably wishing one was her dead husband, Connor.

Udor shuddered. For
years they'd given their dead to the fog on the other side of the village. Now
that the fog was gone, what awaited them? A heap of decayed bodies and bones?
He didn't want to be the one to find out.

Adam stood next to Udor.
"There were beasts out there, but we killed them under Bastian's
direction. The people coming now are just men. Like me. Like you.” He pointed
to a cobbler in the crowd. “We can talk to them. Reason with them. Fight only
if we have to.”

Udor wanted to nudge the
redheaded physic away with his elbow. But the people were listening and nodding
their heads. Adam’s story held their ears, and because of his profession he held
their hearts. Udor was impressed. Adam had never taken on any mantle of
leadership in the past, but today he had the people of Hutton’s Bridge in his
hands.

"So put down your
swords,” Adam said. “Let's meet them with kind words and friendship
first."

Everyone cheered at
Adam's suggestion.

Udor held a snort
inside. If these soldiers had taken Bastian, it was likely they had similar
plans for the residents of Hutton's Bridge. He looked around, trying to think
of a way to gain back their favor and restore common sense. Anything to wrest
control away from Adam.

"Does anyone here
remember me?" a voice called from the back of the crowd. All eyes swung to
a man and a woman.

Udor's jaw dropped. It
couldn't be.

"Jayne?" Adam
stuttered. "Jayne, is that you?" He pushed his way through the crowd,
running toward a woman who resembled his sister, gone long ago into the fog.

Udor knew the man next
to her. Fenn. Tressa's father, Sophia’s grandson. Both of them had entered the
fog years ago. They were alive? How many others were out there? Had they all
survived? He suddenly felt very sick to his stomach.

"We've come to
help," Fenn said as Jayne fell into her brother's arms. "We have
friends who can save you. The soldiers headed this way aren't kind. They are
coming to destroy you."

"I don't
understand," Adam stammered. “Why—”

Udor wanted to say
something, but he was too stunned. He felt completely out of control. Damn
those three for doing this to him. He liked life the way it was.

"The men coming
from the east are going to kill you. I know because they tried to kill us too,
but we escaped." Fenn walked amongst the people, his old friends. Even
Udor had liked Fenn before he'd disappeared into the fog. He'd always felt they
were kindred spirits. "Turn your eyes to the sky. Your saviors are
coming."

Udor, along with all of
the townspeople of Hutton's Bridge, looked up. He stumbled backward, overcome
by the sight of dozens of red dragons flying toward them. His hands shook and
his bowels turned to water. "No. No more dragons."

"It's okay, old
friend." Fenn placed a hand on his arm. "They'll fly you away to
somewhere safe. I promise."

Udor nodded, staring
into Fenn’s mesmerizing eyes. "Yes," he said, nodding. "We will
go with you to your land of safety."

Udor felt the power
coming back to him as the eyes of his people turned to him for comfort and
leadership. "Don't be afraid. Fenn is an old friend. Many of you remember
him as I do. We can trust him."

Udor swallowed the bile
rising in his throat. It was the right decision...he hoped.

The wind raced through
Tressa
’s hair, tangling it with airy
fingers. She tossed a smile to Jarrett, who rode a black horse next to her. “I
love riding!”

“Better not smile too wide. You’ll get bugs in your teeth.”
He laughed, his mouth open, followed by a quick cough and a slight gag. He spit
to the side. “Damn bugs.”

Adrenaline pumped through Tressa. She’d been afraid the
first time she’d seen the horse, worried it would trample her bones under its
hooves. Riding it was beyond anything she’d expected. If she closed her eyes,
even for a moment, she had the sensation of flying. Then Jarrett would yell at
her to open her eyes again.

He was too worried about her. Her instincts told her the
horse wouldn’t put itself in danger and she wanted to enjoy the ride. Once they
arrived in Hutton’s Bridge, she wouldn’t have the luxury of a smile. There was
little time to find a safe haven for her people before the other dragonlords
investigated – if they hadn’t already. She knew soldiers from Ashoom,
where the blue dragons reigned, had to be close, if they hadn't found it already.
She’d lived in the town for a long time without even knowing its proper name.
Jarrett explained that everyone outside the Drowned Country called Ashoom by
its proper name.

“Tell me again about your village,” Jarrett said through
gritted teeth.

“There are only a couple hundred people. I don’t know for
sure now. Since I left there was a plague and Bastian said many died in the
battle to escape the fog.”

“And the honey. Where do they keep the honey?” Jarrett had
asked the same question over and over again.

Tressa always gave the same answer. “In the apiary. It’s on
the northwest side of the village near the fog. Well, where the fog used to
be.”

She still had trouble believing the fog was gone. It had
been an indelible part of her life. She couldn’t imagine Hutton’s Bridge
without it. Bastian had explained it to her as best he could, through his
injuries and the pain. He wanted to help, even if he couldn’t ride out with
them. Tressa’s mind boggled at the thought of three magicians, bonded to trees,
using their magic to keep the village surrounded by fog.

Months ago, she would have dismissed all of it as fairy
tale. Now she’d seen too much. Anything was believable.

“Whoa,” Tressa said, pulling on the horse’s reins. The
forest thickened up ahead. Trees grew together, tangled in knots, except for
one spot where the branches were broken and sundered.

She pointed. “That’s where Bastian hacked through the
forest. Where we met Stacia’s army. They were waiting for us.”

“Stacia was with them?” Jarrett asked.

Tressa nodded at the man who had introduced her to a world
of dragons, and fought to save her life from Stacia, the Queen of the Blue.
“Yes. The Black Guard too. They said they were waiting for us. I’m not certain
how they knew we’d be there.”

“I’m sure Stacia has scouts waiting with messenger birds.
As you know, it doesn’t take long to get her soldiers out here.”

Tressa’s eyes swept over the forest, searching for any sign
of life, friendly or otherwise. Bastian said he and the villagers had killed
the beasts. Still, the memory of being hunted in the fog left Tressa’s hands
trembling.

Bastian had described the beasts. Their great height and
massive bodies. Claws wide as tree branches. Blind, but able to mock their very
words, drawing innocent people to their deaths. A cruel joke on the victim.

The haunted look in Bastian’s eyes had told Tressa more
than his words could. He was afraid of nothing. When they were first imprisoned
in the forest, he fought bravely to set them free. Even when Connor was killed
in front of him, Bastian remained strong. But when he talked of the beasts in
the forest, his eyes filled with pain.

“We should head in,” Jarrett said. “We don’t want to waste
any time.” He leaned over and rested his hand on hers. “Are you okay?”

It wasn’t until he touched her that she realized she was
choking the pommel. “Yes.” She released her grasp, letting the blood flow back
into her palm.

Jarrett’s hand lingered a moment longer than necessary.
Tressa looked up at him. “I’m okay. Really.”

“Then let’s ride ahead. The sooner we get to Hutton’s
Bridge, the sooner we can help the villagers.”

They entered the forest cautiously. The horses couldn’t
gallop now that the road was behind them, for fear of twisting a knee.

For eighty years the forest grew upon itself. Broken
branches littered the ground. Ivy snaked around the bark, tying the entire
forest together in a bizarre organism pulsing with a stuttering, wounded heart.

Though she could see bugs and leaves and hanging moss,
Tressa didn’t feel any safer than she had the last time she traversed the
forest with Bastian and Connor. Now she witnessed the twisted destruction of
what once was, according to her departed Granna, a beautiful forest teeming
with life. Butterflies fluttering in the breeze. Deer snacking on the grass.
Tiny squirrels chattering to each other.

Granna had made it seem a wonderland.

No longer. The fog hadn’t just stopped the children in
Hutton’s Bridge from leaving. It had wounded the forest’s life force.

Jarrett whistled a tune under his breath. Not an upbeat
ditty to distract them, but a low, keening melody.

“What is that?” Tressa asked him.

“An old song from my homeland. A lay.”

“Lay?” Tressa’s horse stepped carefully over a fallen tree
trunk.

“A poem meant to be sung. I would sing,” a wry smile graced
his face, “but you don’t want that. Trust me.”

He continued whistling; Tressa listened intently. The notes
soared over them, bouncing across the damaged forest. After the last note,
Tressa asked, “What is it about?”

“It’s the funeral lay, only sung in the Sands. We sing it
to honor the dead. To remind us about life after the body dies.”

“You believe in that?” Tressa asked him. “An afterlife?”

Jarrett’s eyes widened. “You don’t?”

“Until recently I didn’t even believe in life beyond the
fog.” Tressa shrugged. Granna told her in the old days that their people
worshipped the Holy Ones. After the fog fell, the children who were left behind
prayed every day to them, seeking help. None came. Granna said eventually they
gave up. Why worship a deity that didn’t intervene? Some of the children had
been afraid of repercussions, but when none came, they all gave up on the Holy
Ones. All that remained was cursing in their name. “Anyway, it’s beautiful.”

“It felt appropriate,” he said.

They rode on in silence. It seemed the proper response to
the death lurking in the forest. Until the trees began to thin. Tressa strained
to hear activity from the village. The sound of a woman singing while she
worked in the fields. Or a cow lowing. Even the sound of the smithy, metal
clanging on metal.

There was nothing but silence.

They broke through the final row of trees into Hutton’s
Bridge.

Jarrett looked around. “Where are the people of your town?”

Tressa slipped off the horse and walked to the village
hall.

Empty.

The town square.

Empty.

House after house.

Empty.

She spun around, surprised to find Jarrett behind her. For
a moment she’d forgotten him. Panic bubbled in her throat.

“They’re gone. All of them.”